ManyWriters

It was common knowledge that Lucas Ryan had wed me solely out of resentment, unable to be with the woman he truly adored.
Throughout our five-year union, he played the role of the ideal spouse in public—a celebrated heart specialist admired by many. However, within the confines of our home, he was aloof and detached, frequently requesting a divorce.
Then Evelyn Snow, his first love, came back to the country due to health issues. Lucas dedicated himself to her care, rarely leaving her side. He even cautioned me repeatedly: "Eve's heart condition is fragile. If you dare appear and cause her stress, our marriage is over for good."
At last, during his hundredth plea for a divorce, I conceded.
What Lucas was unaware of, though, was that I was already expecting his child.
En route to the courthouse to complete the divorce proceedings, I was involved in a vehicular collision. My life and that of my unborn baby were extinguished in a moment.
Lucas didn't receive the divorce papers that day, but he did get word that Evelyn had found an ideal heart donor match.
Elated, he hurried back to the medical center and conducted the operation himself, extracting the heart from my lifeless form and implanting it into hers.
It wasn't until afterwards that he recalled our divorce—but by then, my phone would never ring again.

The Heart He Stole Twice

Lucas Ryan remained motionless for an extended period before rising. He nonchalantly retrieved a piece of shattered glass from the ground and headed towards the lavatory.


Perplexed by his behavior, I trailed behind him.


Once inside, he calmly activated the tap and began to fill the bathtub. When it was brimming, he entered fully dressed and reclined against the edge.


Without any hesitation, he lifted the glass shard and sliced it across his wrist.


Vivid crimson blood immediately gushed into the water, creating swirling patterns. Yet Lucas's expression remained impassive—completely devoid of discomfort.


Instead, he shut his eyes, tilting his head back with the faintest hint of a grin on his face.


"Claire," he murmured, his tone gentle and almost serene, "if you won't come to me, I'll make my way to you."


I stood immobile, gazing at him in shock.


The scarlet blood mingled with the water, enveloping him like a shroud. His complexion rapidly paled as his life force ebbed away.


Chapter 9